Author's Note
Because monsters are not born, they are created. One mother is forced to watch the creation of two.
A one shot. I had fun with this, even though it's sad.
Somepony's Baby
I watch from my place in the sky, far above the clouds, beyond where Pegasi can reach. In this place, nopony can hear me or speak to me. I am alone, but I do not feel that way. I watch my family from my place, the one no pony reaches until they pass on.
My husband has his upturned nose in a book. A servant pours him tea, and he angrily waves him away. When the servant does not immediately comply, he throws the tea on the servant and orders him not to drip on the floor. My heart twists in my chest to see him that way. That was not the stallion I married. My husband was full of life, love, laughter. He was excited when I was pregnant with our son. But when I passed on, something in him seemed to snap. He wanted to take whatever he thought he didn’t have, and he scorned and abused others. Even our son- the last bit of me walking the earth. It broke my heart to watch his grief twist him and shape him into something I didn’t even recognize.
I just barely twist my head, and I am looking in another room. My son’s room. The room his father and I decorated together as a nursery has drastically changed. The bright colors it used to be painted were replaced with white walls. The space filled with toys and stuffed animals replaced by a desk, textbooks, and a bed. There were no decorations, no lively colors here to brighten up his day. It was a bedroom made only for rest and work. It seemed that was all my baby boy did anymore. It was so far from what I wanted for him.
I wanted him to laugh and smile there, to play and learn. I wanted him to have a happy and safe place to go to at the end of the day. But now it’s just a prison cell, just like in Tartarus, because there is no joy there. It sickens me to think that now my baby lies in there to get away from his father- the stallion who should be the one he wants to go to for anything. Instead he cowers here, fearful of upsetting him. Home is not a safe place for him. That knowledge destroys me.
My son is Prince Blueblood. To most ponies he is haughty, uptight, narcissistic, and uncaring. What they don’t know, what they don’t see, is that he was not born that way. Monsters are rarely ever born. Monsters are made. My husband was made a monster, and he has slowly transformed my son into something of the same- but only on the outside.
Ponies do not see that the mask he wears to the outside world it is just that- a mask. He was trained and beaten to behave in that manner, my husband’s twisted mind telling him that that is how Prince’s should act. They do not see the pain or suffering on the inside. They do not see the nights that he cries himself to sleep, wishing I were there. They do not see the way he recoils in fear at loud noises because he is afraid his father is coming for him. They do not see the small gestures he tries to make to my husband to show that he loves him that are harshly rebuffed. He has been taught that feeling is weakness. He has learned not to feel when others are around.
But feelings are complicated. They cannot be repressed. They have to come out in some form. Ponies see when they come out in anger, but they do not see the tears. They only have part of the story. I wish desperately that my son would let somepony into his life so that they could see the whole thing. I fear that he will always keep ponies at hooves length because he is ashamed of the scars he bears internally.
My husband told our son that he was the reason I died. That is not true. I had a bleed in my brain that could not be detected until after I passed, and died the day our son was born because of it. The coroner told my husband this, but he refused to believe it. He needed somepony to blame. He took it out on the one pony who would love him unconditionally like I had, and it was awful to watch.
To see my son’s thirst for his father’s affection, desperately trying to please him, and never getting it, was the worst thing I have ever faced. So many times I wanted to intervene, to knock some sense into my husband or comfort my baby, but I can’t. I am stuck here. I must bear witness to their lives from my place in the wings, as they take center stage. I feel trapped most of the time, stuck on a ride I cannot get off of. Sometimes I wish I could not see this, but then, I reconsider. Someday they will come here, and they will know I was there for all of it. Someday it won’t hurt anymore to watch them. I have to believe that, or how else can I reconcile myself to seeing this pain?
Every slap, every punch, every buck, every scathing word said to my son has left an invisible imprint on who he is now. It has built the mask he wears. The only ponies who might someday see behind the masks are Princess Celestia and Princess Luna, who treat him with kindness, and not just because he is a royal. That gets his guard down. Maybe someday, they will know the truth, and the madness will finally end.
My son wears a mask, but I can see beneath it, not just because of my place in the sky, but because I am his mother. I see the boy underneath desperately craving his father’s affection. I see a boy frightened to open his heart to anypony because of the way he has been treated. I see a boy who without my guidance has lost his way. I see my baby underneath.
I believe my son will not be lost forever. I believe that someday somepony will come along and guide him onto the right path. I believe that he still hears my voice in the night, when I whisper encouragements in his ear. I believe he carries enough of me inside of him to change, despite who his father has become. I believe he knows that I am still here.
Ponies see the stallion my husband has raised my son to be. What they do not remember, or choose to forget in all of this, is that he was my baby too.
He is somepony’s baby. He is my baby. And I will always be proud of him and love him, no matter what.
